


Teaching the Greg-O

by Angelise (angelise7)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Early in Canon, Episode Related, Episode: Early Role Out, Episode: Play with Fire, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warrick runs a tight game and is more than willing to share his wisdom with Greg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teaching the Greg-O

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for episodes, ‘Early Rollout’ and ‘Play with Fire.’ Also, I have taken liberty with the opening scene dialogue and action of the episode, ‘Early Rollout,’ tweaking it to my satisfaction.
> 
> In regards to the episode, ‘Play with Fire,’ I’m going to assume it was several hours before Grissom’s team was allowed back inside the lab, thus allowing Warrick the time to be elsewhere.

“Hey, Sanders! How’s it hanging?”

Warrick Brown stopped dead in his tracks and reversed directions when a colleague’s welcoming yell reached his ears. He paused just short of the mansion’s main gate and took a moment to gaze at the man whose mere presence set his heart to racing and his dick to rising.

Greg Sanders.

The younger man was leaning with his back against his car, his blond-streaked hair mussed, and his eyes heavy-lidded as if he had just crawled out of bed.

“Too bad it wasn’t my bed,” he mumbled, and for a brief moment, let his thoughts wander into a familiar fantasy -- the one that had a warm, sleepy Greg snuggled deep under the covers of the king-size bed currently occupying the master bedroom at the Brown residence. “Warm, sleepy and totally wasted from fucking all night long."

His daydream dissolved into reality when he was jostled by a passing cop.

“Sorry, man.”

Keeping his eyes focused on Greg, he waved aside the man’s apology. “No problem,” he said and resumed walking toward the forensics technician.

The team was currently investigating the double homicide of Mike Trent and his wife, Laurel. All hands were on deck for the case, therefore Greg must have been called to the scene by either Gil or Catherine. Of course, since the young man was so gung ho about becoming a CSI, Greg could have taken the initiative himself and traveled to the crime scene in order to glean whatever wisdom he could from the experienced members of Vegas’ top notch CSI team.

He didn’t actually care why Greg was here. He was just happy to finally be working with him. Greg had a keen mind even if his thought processes and methods were a little unorthodox at times. With the right guidance he was certain Greg would soon become a first-rate member of the team. And who better to train the Greg-O than the infamous Warrick Brown?

Wiping the smile from his face, he put his ego and lust on hold and strolled over to where Greg was standing beside his car, looking utterly lost with his hands tucked inside the front pockets of his jeans.

“You just get off a shift?” he asked.

“Catherine called me,” Greg replied, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “I’m here to help with the case.”

Slipping into his professional persona, he turned a critical eye to Greg’s spiked hair, his wrinkled t-shirt and jeans. “You look like a man who just rolled out of bed. You all right?”

“Yeah, why?”

He pointed to Greg’s attire. “T-shirt, jeans. You’re already a half-hour late, and Grissom will rip you a new one if he sees you like that.”

“Serious?”

He saw the light of dismay invade Greg’s eyes and had to work hard to keep from grinning. Greg, as with the rest of them, had learned early on the wisdom of  _not_ provoking Grissom’s displeasure.

“Yeah, serious. It’s not a Rebel game, Greg. It’s a crime scene.”

Noticing the trunk of Greg’s car had been popped open, he walked to the rear of the vehicle. “See? This is what I’m talking about right here.” He examined the clutter scattered throughout the trunk, selecting a flashlight and giving it a once over. “Battery’s not changed out of your flashlight. Kit’s open, not stocked. No swabs.” He turned to glance at Greg. “Did you sterilize your equipment after your last case?” he asked.

Looking thoroughly confused, Greg stuttered his reply. “Uh . . . no?”

Forcing down the need that called for him to pull Greg into a comforting hug, he, instead, pinned him with a stern look. “Next time you’re out my way, I want you to stop by my place, and I’ll show you how I do things.”

“Cool.”

He didn’t pause to examine the reason behind Greg’s hopeful smile; that way led to a torment he only allowed himself to explore on his days off when he was home alone where no one would judge him for the mileage he put on certain items tucked inside the bottom drawer of his night stand.

Re-focusing his mind on teaching, he explained, “You know when I’m on call because all my clothes are folded next to my bed. Shoes, jacket, ball cap, bottle of water, pen, paper, Thomas Guide, cell . . . all next to the phone. That way if I get a call at three in the morning, I’m not scrambling. Everything is there before the phone rings. My game’s tight like my trunk. Check it out.”

He turned and walked toward his black Yukon SUV, lifting open the rear hatch and indicating the contents inside. “Camera case, tripod. Film in fridge. Markers, check. Extra field kit, fully stocked, sterilized. Shoe print lift kit. Wet weather gear. Files, my man.”

He reached forward and flipped through the various folders in the case he kept stashed inside his SUV. “Forms for days. First call form. First officer form. Consent to search. Bird’s eye view inside. Bird’s eye view outside.” Glancing over his shoulder, he checked to see if Greg was following what he was saying. “You picking up on what I’m putting down?”

Greg looked slightly overwhelmed as he examined every item neatly arranged in the back of the vehicle. “Yeah, I got it. No one ever told me about this before.”

“Well, now you’ve been told.” He let a small smile slip but tucked it away as soon as it appeared on his face. No use showing his cards if no one was looking. “Okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

He slapped Greg on the shoulder and allowed himself the luxury of touching him a second longer than acceptable. It was these guarded touches that got him through his occasional bouts of melancholy. A night out on the town with a sexy lady didn’t even come close. Yeah, the sex fed the Beast but did nothing when it came to soothing the needs of his heart.

He tightened his grip on Greg’s shoulder for an additional second before letting go and stepping away. “You better go find Catherine. No use ruffling any feathers, especially those of the female kind.”

“Yeah.”

He stopped Greg from returning to his car. “Take my kit. It’ll keep your ass out of the doghouse.”

“Thanks, Warrick.” Grinning widely, Greg waggled an eyebrow. “I don’t care what anybody else says, you’re an okay kinda guy.”

“It thrills me to no end to hear you say that. Now, get to work.”

Greg hoisted the spare kit out of the SUV and turned toward the house. “Bring it back stocked and sterilized,” he instructed the young man.

Greg gave him the thumb’s up sign. “You got it, my man. Stocked, sterilized and shined to the max. Later!”

He took hold of the rear hatch and was in the process of slamming it closed when the retreating sway of Greg’s rear-end caught his attention. “Damn, his ass is fine, especially in those jeans.” Closing his eyes in surrender to the shiver of lust traveling south to his groin, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and muttered, “Where’s a cold shower when you need it?”

“Warrick?”

The sound of Grissom’s voice was three times more effective than any cold shower he could have wished for, and with a rapidly wilting dick, he shifted his gaze to the man standing behind him. Taking a deep breath, he explained, “I was just---”

“Heading back to the lab as I instructed you earlier?”

Warrick swore he could feel his supervisor’s hot breath on the back of his neck. “On my way,” he ascertained, slamming shut the SUV’s rear hatch. “Right now, in fact.”

“Excellent.”

Silence ensued, and he gave a sigh of relief when he checked over his shoulder again and discovered Grissom had walked away. His ass was safe, for now.

Looking up at the house, he saw that Greg had disappeared from view. Another sigh slipped out, but this one was different than the one before.

This sigh was drawn out and miserable and filled with a thousand regrets.

 

+++++++

 

“Hey, Nick. Wanna grab some breakfast?”

Warrick slipped his CSI jacket inside his locker and slammed the door shut, ending his scrutiny of the Christmas group picture he had taped to the very back wall. This photo featured a smiling Greg kneeling beside him and was one of three copies he kept hidden in strategic spots. He briefly considered trashing them -- no use reminding himself of what he’d never have -- but dismissed the thought for the lie that it was. He’d never be able to put Greg out of his mind or out his heart.

“There’s this new diner on the strip,” he informed his colleague, “and I hear they serve killer omelets.”

Turning his head so that Nick couldn’t see him, he made a face. He really didn’t like eggs, but if his offer got Nick to the diner and eased the current spell of depression he was struggling with, then he’d damn well learn to like them. “What about it? My treat.”

“Gotta take a raincheck, dude. There’s a lady with a Jag parked outside, and they both have my name written all over them.” Nick looked up and winked. “If everything goes to plan, the next time you see my weary ass will be Monday night.”

“You dog! How’d you swing a four-day weekend?”

Nick shook out what appeared to be a clean shirt, gave it a sniff test and then pulled it on. “Janet on evenings wanted some extra time. I offered, she accepted. Seems she’s getting married next month and wants to make some extra cash for the honeymoon.”

Warrick tugged on his combination lock making sure it was secure before walking to where Nick was sitting on the bench slipping on his shoes. “Well, call me if things don’t work out with you and your lady with the Jag. I’ve got tickets to the fight at the Bellagio.”

He saw the grin on his friend’s face and knew without a doubt that if his phone rang during the coming weekend, it would not be Nick on the other end.

The man’s laughter confirmed his assumption. “You might want to find somebody else to go with you to the fight,” he suggested. “There is no way I’ll be surfacing for air before Monday night.” Nick clasped him on the shoulder and walked out of the locker room with him. “Try asking Greg. Heard he’s flying solo this weekend.”

The Greg-O flying solo? So not happening. In fact, he would be hard pressed to recall a Sunday night shift where Greg hadn’t regaled them all with tales of his weekend triumphs.

“I doubt our boy is dateless,” he muttered aloud as he followed Nick down the hallway. “Have you seen the way he’s been eyeing Sarah lately? I’ll lay you ten-to-one odds that we’ll find him barking up her tree sooner rather than later.”

“Sarah? You’ve got to be kidding? Doesn’t he know Sarah’s not exactly into dating right now?”

“I’ll bet you fifty bucks Greg asks Sarah on a date before the end of this month.”

Nick remained silent, but his eyebrows shot up when the two of them entered the employee lounge and found Greg and Sarah sitting together, chatting about what movies were currently playing. Grinning, he held out his hand and laughed when Nick danced away with both arms held up in surrender.

“Maybe you could ask Doc Robbins? I understand he’s a big fight fan,” Nick suggested on his way out the door after collecting a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Maybe you could pay up,” he replied jokingly, his gaze never wavering from the young man sitting across the room.

So focused on Greg, he was completely caught by surprise when Nick popped his head back in and said with a knowing smirk, “Maybe  _you_ should quit looking. Not gonna win the prize if all you do is stare.”

He felt his mouth drop open, but before he could argue Nick’s suggestion his friend was gone, leaving him with an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “You son of a bitch,” he said with a grin. “Can’t hide anything from you.”

Glancing at Greg one more time, he moved to the coffee pot, having been drawn there by the aroma of freshly brewed java. He was in the process of filling his CSI emblazoned travel mug when Greg sauntered up behind him and grabbed a clean coffee cup from the cupboard. Since the open cupboard was directly in front of them, Greg had to rise up on his tiptoes and lean against him in order to reach the mug. The press of Greg’s lithe body against his back did not go unnoticed, and he nearly dropped the coffee pot while returning it to the burner.

“You heading home?” Greg asked once he had filled his mug to the brim.

“Yeah,” he answered distractedly, taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee and wishing it was a mouthful of scalding hot semen spewing from Greg’s---

“Warrick? You okay?”

His tongue burnt to a crisp, he looked down in amazement at the spilt coffee staining his jersey. ‘ _Where in the hell did that thought come from_ ,’ his befuddled brain inquired of him.

Blindly accepting the napkins Greg was offering, he swiped at the mess his lustful musings had created. “Thanks,” he told his concerned-looking colleague. “Coffee’s hotter than hell.”

“Uh, yeah. It  **is** a fresh pot.”

Greg looked at him like he’d lost his mind, and reflecting on his current mental state, he was forced to agree. “Smartass.”

Greg grinned, and the smile was so damn contagious, he found himself forgetting about the third degree burns forming in his mouth and smiled back. “You and Sarah going to the movies?”

A blush spread across Greg’s cheeks. “Yeah. We’re gonna go see the new ‘Batman’ movie. Looks pretty awesome.”

The blush and mischievous twinkle in Greg’s eye were his undoing, torpedoing all hope and leaving behind an almost unbearable ache in his heart.

Running a hand over his face, he sighed heavily. Things just weren’t working out for him in the gent department. Maybe it was time to switch back to ladies -- give them another go. Scratching his chin, he suddenly remembered the odd looks he’d been getting from Catherine lately. Maybe she’d like to go with him to the fight.

He forced himself to take a step back and place a respectable distance between himself and Greg. The forensic tech was standing way too close for his peace of mind. “You and Sarah have a good time at the movies,” he said with a bitter smile.

He noticed Greg was not getting the hint about backing off because the lab tech followed after him and, once again, invaded his personal space. “You want to join us?” Greg asked, and he could have sworn he heard a hopeful note in the man’s voice. He dismissed the delusion with a shake of his head.

“Three’s a crowd, Greg, but I appreciate you asking.”

He turned and rinsed out his coffee mug, placing it in the sink while thinking, ‘ _Wouldn’t that be the final nail in my coffin? To sit and watch Greg make out with Sarah at the movies. Thanks but no thanks_ .’

“See you guys back here Sunday night.” He included Sarah in his farewell by sharing a tight smile with her.

Greg attempted to stop him at the door. “Warrick, won’t you reconsider? I’d really like for you to come with us.” Greg grasped him by the arm and literally blocked the exit with his body.

He looked past Greg and saw Catherine in the distance talking to Grissom. Then and there he decided that one blonde was as good as another and gently removed Greg’s hand from his arm.

“You’ve got your lady, and I’ve got mine.”

His heart immediately jumped back with the question, ‘ _Who are you trying to fool?’_ He wisely ignored the question, knowing full well that any answer he offered would make him out to be a bigger fraud than he already was.

“Catch you la---”

“You’ve got a lady? I thought---”

The note of incredulity in Greg’s voice caught his attention, but before he could investigate its source, he saw Catherine walking toward the rear exit door. “Yeah, I’ve got a lady, and if I don’t haul ass, I’m gonna miss catching her before she leaves.”

He sprinted toward Catherine. “Later, Greg,” he called over his shoulder.

The willowy blonde was within his grasp when something inside insisted he stop and take one last look back. Calling himself a fool, he did so and nearly tripped when he saw the dejected way Greg was slouching against the wall with what had to be an utter look of despair on his face. The emotions that flooded his being were quickly dashed by Sarah’s appearance at Greg’s side, and he put an immediate gag order on his overly optimistic heart.

“Get it through your head. No matter how much you want it, it ain’t happening. Not now, not ever.”

Turning on his heel, he slammed his fist against the door, punching it open with force of his blow.

"Catherine? Got a sec?”

+++++++

“I’m coming, damn it! Keep your fucking pants on.”

Cursing the idiot that was stupid enough to ring his doorbell at eight in the morning, Warrick rolled out of bed and slipped on a pair of sweatpants. The room spun drunkenly when he stood up faster than his inebriated brain could handle, forcing him to grab for the clothes butler positioned at the foot of the bed.

“That’s the last time I let Catherine take me out drinking,” he thought while snatching his discarded underwear off the floor and throwing it in the direction of his closet. The room spun again, and he clung harder to the clothes butler, cursing each and every drink Catherine had pushed in his direction. “Never, and I mean  **never** , go drinking with an ex-showgirl.”

The incessant ringing of the doorbell reminded him that he was on a mission to kick some ass, and after a thankful pat to his wooden friend, lurched his way out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

A brief search for shoes was quickly abandoned when the living room couch got in the way of his left great toe. The resultant throbbing pain did nothing to improve his demeanor, and with a glare that could easily melt steel, he threw open the front door and bellowed at the unfortunate fool on the other side.

“Unless you want to eat that finger for breakfast, you better damn well remove it from my doorbell.”

“Morning, Warrick! Did I wake you?”

Clinging to the doorknob with one hand, he stared helplessly at the young man standing before him. He blinked several times and even rubbed his bloodshot, sand-filled eyes, but the reigning star of his fantasies refused to disappear.

“What in the  **hell** are you doing here, Greg? Don’t you know what time it is?”

“It’s Sunday morning,” Greg answered cheerily. “Eight-o-nine to be exact. Time for all good boys to be out of bed.”

Greg had the audacity to grin while checking his watch, and if he had been in better shape, he would have wiped that smirk right off Greg’s face.  _With a kiss, of course_ , he mused inanely.

“It’s  _Sunday_ morning, Greg, and all the boys that I know sleep in on Sunday mornings.”

“Oh.”

He felt ten times the heel when Greg’s exuberant grin faded into an uncertain frown of disappointment. He immediately wracked his brain for something to say that would return that smile to its rightful place.

“But, since I am, as we both know, a  _good_ _boy_ , I guess you could say I’m officially out of bed.” He put out a hand and grasped Greg’s bicep. “What can I do for you?”

The blinding brightness of Greg’s elated smile sobered him instantly, and he tightened his grip on the man’s arm in order to keep from keeling over from the dizzying effect it had on him. The familiar feel of clothing had him taking a closer look at Greg. What he saw intensified his lightheadedness, and after returning both hands to either side of the doorframe, he hung on for dear life.

Greg stood before him dressed completely in black, from the oversized CSI jacket that was falling off one shoulder to the black Nikes encasing his feet. A black cotton tee was tucked into black jeans, and Warrick spared a moment to admire Greg’s narrow waist and the impressive package of manhood below.

A sudden indrawn breath drew his gaze upward. Much to his delight, he discovered the smooth surface of the black tee was marred by the prominent outline of nipples. Their visible presence inflamed his lust, and he bit his tongue to keep from licking his lips.

‘ _Damn, he looks good. Looks good as in a walking, breathing, fucking-wet-dream, good_ .’

“. . . thought you might like to check me out.”

"Huh?”

He yanked his brain out of his visitor’s jeans and forced it to focus on what was being said. “Check you out?”

Greg took a step back and shrugged out of his jacket, providing him with an excellent view of the well-defined muscles in his arms. Greg had obviously been working out, and he stopped himself short of whistling in appreciation. Swallowing hard, he heard himself ask again, “Check you out?”

“Yeah. Come look at my car. It’s tight, man. Totally tight.”

“That ain’t the only thing that’s tight,” Warrick muttered miserably under his breath as he followed Greg to his car. With his gaze glued to the ass that was snugly encased in black denim, he nearly tripped over Greg when he stopped abruptly.

“Looks good, huh?”

‘You have no idea.’

Shaking his head to clear it of all depraved thoughts, he looked to where Greg was pointing. “I’m impressed,” he answered after viewing the neatly arranged contents stored in the trunk of the car. A small smile played on his lips when he noted how Greg had gone above and beyond the call of duty, not only making sure he had duplicates of certain items but triplicates as well.

“You done good, Greg-O. Looks tight.”

“Wait. You haven’t seen everything.”

He found himself pushed around to the front passenger side of the car and shoved inside. Before he could straighten his tall frame into a more comfortable position, Greg had joined him and was nearly pulling his arm out of socket in his haste to show off what he had in the back seat.

“You got forms. I got forms. Everything from A to Z. You name it, I’ve got it. And if I don’t, no problem. See this laptop? I can hook it to this mobile printer and . . . Voila, you’ve got your form!”

Eyes wide with amazement, he nodded his approval. “I’ll say it again, Greg, I  _am_ impressed. Major impressed. Hell, that laptop and printer alone must have set you back a pretty penny.”

“Nah, it’s a gift from my ex-boyfriend. He said it was the least he owed me considering how I paid for the night classes he flunked last semester.”

He slid out of Greg’s car when his back began protesting the cramped quarters and awkward position it was being forced to endure. Slamming shut the passenger side door, he glanced across the roof at Greg, who had followed suit, and yawned for all he was worth. “Hate to say this, partner, but I’m still beat from last night. Mind if we put an end to this visit?”

Letting go of another yawn, he banged his fist on the roof of the car and offered one more piece of advice, “Keep up this kind of enthusiasm, Greg, and you’ll be a CSI in no time.”

He took one last look at the two purple plastic storage bins sitting on either side of the computer equipment and chuckled. Only Greg would have chosen such a bright, psychedelic color.

Shaking his head in amusement, he bid farewell to his early morning visitor, “Catch ya later, Greg.”

Not waiting for a reply, he threw a wave in the man’s direction and stumbled wearily back inside, his heart heavy with more than just mere physical exhaustion. He was halfway down the hall when his brain kicked into gear and replayed the last portion of their conversation. A howl filled with disgust and surprise broke the silence as he turned on his heel and raced for the front door.

He threw open the door with such force, it slammed into the wall and caused several picture frames hanging there to crash to the floor. Ignoring the mess his hasty exit had created, he hurled himself forward and nearly mowed Greg down in the process. Strong hands caught him by the arms and shoved him back, their grip remaining steadfast even after he’d regained his balance.

“Fancy meeting you here again.”

Warrick looked at Greg, saw the knowing grin, the impish twinkle in his eyes and cursed. “You son of a bitch. How long?”

He sucked in a breath when Greg’s hands dropped to his waist and began playing with the tie at the front of his sweats. His traitorous body reacted swiftly to the brazen touch, which only served to widen the grin on Greg’s face.

“How long what? How long have I been gay? Uh . . . since birth? How long have I liked you? Uh, would forever be pushing it?”

He covered Greg’s curious fingers with his own. “How long have you known about me? About me being interested in you?”

“Well, I could say it’s been since Catherine’s call last night, but that would be a lie.”

"What? What do you mean . . . since Catherine’s call?”

He couldn’t think while holding Greg’s hand, and with a sigh, let it drop from his. He shuddered helplessly when Greg hooked both thumbs inside the waistband of his sweats and tugged them down a couple of inches, exposing a glimpse of pubic hair. “Greg,” he growled in warning.

His admonition was obeyed but only in part. Greg stopped tugging but stubbornly kept his hands and fingers fixed in place. “Why did Catherine call you?”

Disobedient thumbs went traveling and found the unexplored territory of hip bones to map. “Seems somebody cried on her shoulder last night after the fight at the Bellagio.”

“Shit.”

The memory of doing exactly what Greg implied crystallized in his brain, and he cursed again. “Shit and double shit.” Damn it. He was in so much trouble because there was no telling what he told Catherine in his inebriated state.

As if sensing his panic, Greg slid closer. “Hey, if it hadn’t been for Catherine spilling the beans, there’s no telling when the two of us would have quit dancing around our feelings for each other.”

Greg was right, and he silently nodded his agreement. “Remind me to send Cupid’s new assistant some flowers.”

Taking a moment to admire the attractive, courageous man before him, he replayed the last part of their conversation. “You implied you knew I was interested in you long before Catherine’s call. How long exactly?” All semblance of obedience was abandoned as hands attempted to span the circumference of his waist with both thumbs digging into his navel. Their touch made him shudder. “Greg?”

“Since the lab explosion,” Greg answered softly. “The nurses told me how long you stayed after you and Catherine quizzed me about the events leading up the explosion,  **and** that you wouldn’t let go of my hand while you were there. They also let me know each time you called to check on how I was doing.”

He felt concern when Greg’s smile shifted into a frown.

“You never came in my room after that,” the younger man noted. “I mean, yeah, you visited but only in the company of others, and you always hung way back, close to the door.”

Greg cautiously slid hands up his bare chest and curved them over his broad shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Why didn’t you visit me on your own? Did I look that bad? Did my burns disgust you?”

Confused and wounded eyes looked up at him, and he felt his heart twist with shame when he remembered the explosion that had left Greg with second and third degree burns on his back. Afraid that his love for the younger man would overwhelm his good judgment, he had kept away, only visiting when one of his colleagues had invited him along. That first extended visit had been a mistake, a moment of weakness. His heart had demanded he remain at Greg’s side, and he had been helpless to resist, staying well into the late evening, never once leaving the heavily sedated man alone.

It was only when Greg’s parents had arrived from out of town that he had forced himself to leave the hospital and return to work. And it seemed that once he had removed himself from temptation his rational brain overruled his foolish heart, and reminded him of the hopelessness of his feelings for Greg.

“Warrick?”

Without warning, he pulled Greg inside his apartment and turned him around so that he faced the closed door. Lifting the hem of his friend’s shirt, Warrick gazed at the numerous skin grafts and healed scars covering Greg’s back.

“Nothing about you could ever disgust me,” he said with conviction and proved his words by lowering his head and kissing the puckered skin covering both shoulder blades. A husky moan greeted the touch of his mouth, encouraging him to offer more kisses to the disfigured flesh before him.

“After a while I thought maybe I was wrong, that you were only being a good friend back then, that you didn’t like me as much as I liked you,” Greg whispered over his shoulder.

With one hand braced against the door, he reached back with the other and gripped Warrick’s hip. “You never accepted any of my invitations to get together and when you turned down my invite to the movies and then said you had a lady, I just knew I was wrong about you liking me.”

He allowed Greg to pull him forward and let go a sigh of rightness when his body nestled perfectly against that of his friend’s. “I never had a clue that you felt that way about me. You were always chasing girls. Hell, just this past Friday, I bet Nicky you’d end up with Sarah.”

“Sarah? You’re kidding me, right?”

Greg turned in his arms, and Warrick briefly mourned the loss of the intimate contact. “Did you or did you not inquire as to Sarah’s willingness to go out with you?” he quizzed the younger man. “Did you or did you not go out with her last Friday night?”

He took a step back and defiantly crossed his arms over his chest. “Going to the movies with a woman equals dating which, in my book, equals interest in the opposite sex. What’s your take?”

“My take,” Greg said, following after him while pulling off his tee and dropping it on the floor. “My take has nothing to do with me dating Sarah ‘cause I’m not interested in her.”

Warrick retreated another step but held his ground when Greg chased after him and poked him rather hard in the chest. “Looked like you were interested from where I was standing,” he claimed.

"Well, if you’d quit standing so damn far away,” Greg demanded, “maybe you’d see the real truth of the matter.”

Having shut his eyes when Greg’s aroused body plastered itself to his, Warrick snapped them back open and stared longingly at the lips moving toward him. “Greg?”

“Friends, Warrick. Me and Sarah are friends. Friends take friends to the movies. Doesn’t mean they’re gonna end up in the sack together or live happily ever after.”

Greg’s mouth discovered the hollow at the base of his throat, and Warrick struggled not to beg for it to move elsewhere. “But I---”

“Couldn’t you see how much I wanted you to join us?” Greg cut him off, lifting his lips only far enough away from his neck to speak, “Man, I never took you to be a thick-skulled kinda guy.”

He gripped the short strands of hair brushing against the nape of Greg’s neck and tugged on them until Greg was forced to look up. The desire and love burning in the depths of the eyes trained on him was enough to shatter all his defenses.

He lifted Greg into his arms, laughing lustily when the rough touch of denim encircled his bare waist. “Thick, huh? I’ll show you something thick, you asshole. Thick, long and hard.”

Anxious fingers clutched at his shoulders and back while hungry teeth marked his throat and jaw. “This asshole,” Greg whispered hotly in his ear, biting the sensitive lobe before soothing it with a slow lick of his tongue, “is prepared to take all you’ve got, for as long as you’re willing to give it.”

To prove his point Greg dropped his legs and without moving his mouth from the earlobe he was sucking on, managed somehow to shimmy out of the remainder of his clothes. Warrick nearly dropped his burden when Greg returned his legs to their previous position and rubbed a very noticeable erection against his lower belly. Grasping Greg by his ass, Warrick felt a familiar slipperiness coat the tips of his fingers when he shifted them between the man’s buttcheeks.

“Talk about being prepared. For Christ’s sake, Greg, that’s taking it way above and beyond.”

Sharp fingernails attacked his nipples and in response, Warrick fell back against the wall behind him, praying his weakening knees would keep him upright.

Greg lifted his head and grinned triumphantly. “I’ve learned from the best, remember?”

Warrick swore he saw the sun, moon  **and** stars disintegrate inside his brain when Greg slid a hand inside his sweats and located his dick. “Oh fuck.”

Fingers cherished his hard flesh for several seconds, and when he was certain his legs were about to give way, his soon-to-be lover released him completely, regaining his feet and taking a step back.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Grabbing his hand, Greg looked down the hallway with a triumphant grin on his face.

“Huh?” Warrick attempted to coax a few of his brain cells back into his skull. “What?”

Greg answered with a tug on his hand. “Come on. You promised to show me how you do things, how tight your game is.”

“Oh, I’ll show you how  _tight_ my game is.”

He rushed after Greg, catching him under his arms and dragging him into the master bedroom. “Once I’m finished teaching you everything I know, Gil will pass you with flying colors.”

He tossed Greg onto the bed and nearly forgot how to breathe when the younger man flipped over on his stomach and thrust his gorgeous ass at him.

“Teach me, Warrick. Come teach your Greg-O.”

 “My Greg-O. You’ve got that right, babe. You _are_ my Greg-O.”

  

~finis~

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [You can follow me and my eclectic tastes on Tumblr!](http://angelise7.tumblr.com/)


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